iHad to Ask
by Blushing.Violet
Summary: There's alot of things he didn't have to know, and this was one of them. Seddie, of course. Oneshot.


~iHad to Ask~

Sam slid into the bar stool at Carly's apartment, enjoying the silence. Flicking on the monitor, she fired the computer up and it responded by humming, busily. Smirking, she shifted in her seat and grabbed the mouse, drumming her fingers.

Yes, this was perfect.

It was one of the few, rare moments that Sam Puckett managed to capture, and she was loving every bit of it. Normally she wouldn't dare approach the machine at any time during Carly's absence/presence (after purchasing two-hundred and fifty-three dollars worth of vintage Peppy Cola items at E-Harbor, the brunette swore horrible consequences for even coming within _spitting_ distance of it.)

But, Sam could spit pretty far; and nonetheless the notion of doing something worthy of guilty pleasure was all too much for her to resist.

She wasn't going shopping, though.

Confidently, she logged onto the website to check on her poll. Something she did out of boredom; a free moment with Freddie's momentarily unoccupied laptop and the iCarly server quickly received an update. It was a very minor one nonetheless, but it counted. It relieved the cloud of hovering boredom and after that she'd felt quite content. Two rules in one day.

Although, it wasn't as if it mattered. The server had recently been experiencing some technical chaos, so it wasn't as if many were to enter the fray. Several facets of the site were replaced with brief, comical explanations and fillers. She never knew if Freddie were to actually, _fix _the website after he'd splattered his smoothie upon it because it _had _been a lot of fun making up corny vidlets to occupy and satisfy the viewers, for the time being.

Her instincts kicked in; she'd forgotten to raid the fridge. Of all the ridiculous—Ah it didn't matter. She was doing it now, wasn't she? Shuffling over, hands stuffed loosely in her pockets, Sam decided to skip the civil treatment and made a mad, but short, dash as she whirled open the door of the silver, chrome fridgerator.

She'd only half-noticed the magenta sticky note that almost flew off the fridge. Closing the door for a moment, hesitantly, she grabbed the paper as its bright flawlessness made direct, threatening eye contact with her; as if it had to be gone through before she reached the fridge. Sam smirked.

_Riiiiiipp._

She chucked evilly, popping her head back into the rectangular food dispenser and studied its contents.

The was only thing she found edible, or decently edible, at least, was a bag of half eaten, rolled up Funion rings. Glaring at the bright yellow bag, as if it was _its _fault there was a meat shortage, she plopped it on the counter and picked up the note torn cleanly in two, grabbing a nearby strip of tape from a dispenser and slapping it messily on it. It would do.

_Sam,_

_I know you're just about ready to call sky__patrol _

_and __have them deliver you a wild boar, __stat; but relax. _

_Spencer and I went shopping and __we're picking up some _

_ham. And, other important grocery __products. :P _

_We'll be done shopping soon! _

_~Carly (P.S. Stay off the internet!!!)_

The blonde merely grinned, dragged the bag of rings over to the monitor and jabbed her hand in, munching with contentment. Three rules in one shot. Could it get any better?

* * *

"Who should date?" She sighed, reading her question back like a belated echo. The white text sat prominently next to a pondering picture of herself. The options were very simple. Some quite humorous, even. The options were either:

Sam and Freddie

Carly and Griffin

Spencer and Sasha Striker

Lewbert and Oprah.

Casting her vote, she smiled amusedly. Meeting the results was the only problem, though.

That contented smile faded faster than if all the puppies in the world suddenly died of unnatural causes. Scratch that, that'd actually be a good thing for her; because the darling little things would always _pee _on her lest they got the chance. She was not a human fire hydrant. Abrasive, but not a hydrant.

It was _supposed _to be a joke, really. Something to check up on in a few days and laugh at how many _didn't _vote for such a stupid option; she mentally slapped herself upside the head for doing it in the first place.

Biting her lip, she swiveled back and forth casually, clammy hand resting on the mouse and shook her head. Squinting carefully, she leaned in and stared at them, scrutinizing.

"Carly and Griffin have a pretty big piece of the pie…" She droned, trying to be positive.

"Watcha doin'?" A voice quizzed; Sam's ancient stare of clipped proportions was enough to make it consider backing up a few steps. Freddie put his hands up, eyes bulging.

"What'd I walk into?"

She scrolled upwards, mouse rattling inwardly. "Boredom, annoyance, lack of good company and meat by-products…" Sam listed off, shoving her hand into the bag once more.

"Approach if you dare," She swallowed her mouthful and gazed at him tiredly; like a half-awake lion waiting to see if some stupid hyena was man enough to approach. He strolled over and hopped on the stool beside her, unfazed by the threat.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask you something." He paused mid-sentence, scrawling his fingers through his hair. Sam's adverting eyes slowly met his, though, not out of skittishness but just plain laziness.

"Yes, Freddifer?"

He sighed exasperatedly. "See that? That right there? That's gotta stop." Her eyebrows scrunched together.

"That what?" She quizzed, innocently. "Fredaroni and cheese?"

"That, pet-naming!" He blurted, though wishing the words could pass over her ears and sneak themselves back into his mouth.

"Pet-naming?" She deadpanned, half-interested, cocking a single brow. Pausing for a brief moment, she returned her attention to the screen, exhaling.

"Dude, I can't help it if you picked today to wear a shirt yellower than your personality. That's your problem, not mine."

It was almost apologetic.

"Uncalled for."

"But true," She buzzed, reaching into the bag of Funions again and finishing them off slowly. Freddie carefully grabbed a couple from crinkling bag, yanking his hand back warily before _she _yanked it in all the wrong directions. The blonde didn't seem to notice; aimlessly browsing around the page but never leaving it.

"Did you see the poll yet?" He asked, staring at the monitor.

Sam's movements became a little bit stiffer; almost animatronic, as she turned to look the munching boy in the eye. A certain swirling feeling in her stomach indicated the snacks might actually crawl back up her throat, suffocating her air supply.

"Carly must've put it up." He added, swallowing. This was not uncommon. Carly would often ask them random, often pointless questions about their opinions on colors, what they were to do if mauled by seventy-two purple monkeys with rabies, and somehow come up with highly fabricated, often sophiscated ones good enough for the website.

At least that's what Sam figured, after all. Normally in the next day or two evidence would prove her theory. But, he didn't have to know about how she'd beat the brune to it. Not now, anyway.

Everyone has their own little secrets.

There was an interrupting silence in which the blonde decided to keep her mouth shut. Well, excluding Funions. She guessed Freddie wasn't waiting for any reply, but she eventually did anyway.

"…Who'd you vote for, Queen of the Bunions?" She spat playfully, taking her near empty bag back.

"The first one," He uttered, blankly as he stared at the screen. Sam had the guts to look at him, though more to herself, in a skeptical sideways glance. Eyes widening slowly, he'd caught his mistake.

"From the bottom." Freddie tail-gated, noting the hazy expression she gave him. She stared at the mouse and tapped her fingers upon it, drawing in a slitted breath.

Silence.

"You?"

"I think Carly and Griffin would make a good pair…" She trailed, absently staring at the results.

There was another pause of lip nibbling and nail chewing, before they dared to say anything more.

"Lewbert has issues," Sam quipped.

"…Yeah, I think Oprah'd straighten him out pretty good."

"She'd have to have a separate session with his wart." Sam smirked, "Unless she failed and ended up in therapy herself."

"That'd be messed up." He piped.

"Yeah," She scoffed.

More awkward silence.

"What about Spencer and Sasha?"

Her scrutinizing eyes grazed over the selection, leaning back. "Nah," She muttered. "He'll find someone, someday. It just... wouldn't work."

He opened his mouth to object, index finger raised intellectually, but decided against it. Of course, there was no battle to this. Sam always wins.

Always.

* * *

**That was a little one-shot I wrote one lazy afternoon doing almost the same thing. ...Except, I wasn't talking to Fredward. xP But it would be so COOL if I was, right? Lol. I typed it up and revised it, hope you guys like. Oh, and be sure to check out Chapter 3 of Knocking On Your Door, I've added some more to it. ;) As far as when it'll actually get another chapter, it depends on a lot of things. Don't forget to click the nice little button below you and tell me what you thought, kay? :D *Hands out cookies***


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